


Family Affairs

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Mycroft Holmes, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Omega Sherlock, Parenthood, Sibling Incest, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26388595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Sherlock and Mycroft's daughter comes home from school after hitting another child. She did have her reasons.When she is asleep, the two soulmates enjoy some quality time.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 12
Kudos: 139





	Family Affairs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlytherinsDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinsDragon/gifts).



> Okay, one more fic! :) I totally blame writing this on SlytherinsDragon's wonderful "Of Blue Scarves" story. I wanted to create a Holmes child of my own. I hope I did it justice.

“Amy? What are you doing here alrea-… God, what happened? Come in!” Sherlock wiped his hands, still a bit dirty from the experiment he had been working on, on his trousers, pulled his daughter into the house and helped her out of her jacket.

Her mop of black curls was in a rather messed-up state, the blouse – one half of her plain, blue school uniform – was torn at the collar and missing some buttons. And the girl’s full lips were forming a formidable pout.

“Hey? Has the frog gotten your tongue? What happened?” Sherlock asked again, taking her hand to guide her to the bathroom to wash her face, which was smeared with dirt and tears.

Tears of wrath, he supposed, considering the expression of her large blue eyes. And she rarely cried for any other reason.

Instead of answering, she offered him a crumpled piece of paper.

From the school, Sherlock deduced at once. He sighed. “What did you do, hm? I told you – don’t hit anybody.” He had figured out what must have happened easily. She wasn’t injured but that didn’t mean _the other one_ wasn’t, either...

Amabel ‘Amy’ Holmes was a wild child. She had practically climbed trees before she had been able to walk – and of course she had been able to count to ten with twelve months and form full sentences with eighteen months, just like her dads. She was smart, oh so smart. Well, that was to be expected, considering her genes. She already spoke three languages nearly fluently – her own, German, and French. Next year, she would probably be able to crack simple codes.

She resembled Sherlock in the looks department – and unfortunately she had also inherited his penchant for getting in trouble. “He deserved it,” she growled now, completely remorseless.

Sherlock suppressed a smile. Seven years old and so tough. “Did he now?” They had reached their destination and he washed his hands and then took a flannel to remove the traces of her latest adventure off the girl’s face. “Go and change your clothes, hon. And then come into the kitchen. Milk and gingernuts?”

Her face brightened up. “Yes!”

Sherlock shook his head, fondly. She was a handful, so much was sure. But also a very lovable little creature.

He went into the kitchen to make a sandwich that he would sneak onto her plate before she got the biscuits. Rules were rules.

He greeted Georgie, their dog, almost ten years old and cuddled up on one of his blankets, placed next to the kitchen table. The good old dog raised his head when Sherlock tousled the long, silky ears. “Hello my friend. Comfy?” He smiled when Georgie licked his hand, but it pained him that the dog had not heard Amy coming home and had not raced to the door to greet her as he had done only a year ago. Losing him would break everybody’s heart. Especially Amy’s, who loved all four-to-eight-legged and feathered creatures under the sun, and had brought home more than one injured animal, which had then been nursed by the most patient and soft-hearted member of their little family – even though he was the Alpha. The Alpha who was working from home mostly these days but had been forced to go to the office for an inevitable meeting today. And he was sorely missed…

Amy raced into the kitchen when he had just warmed the milk for her, immediately kneeling down next to Georgie, whose tail waggled frantically now, and he made a soft noise of content when he was rubbed and cuddled with vigour but care.

Sherlock sat down with a cup of freshly brewed coffee and waited for his daughter to join him. When she had reluctantly taken place after obediently washing her hands again, he pointed at the letter or what was left of it after being carried around in Amy’s skirt pocket. He had not opened it up yet. “So… What might possibly be the content of this love letter, hm?”

Amy drank from her milk and wiped over her mouth briskly. “Dunno. Stupid shit.”

“Amy!” It was hard not to laugh but Sherlock tried to muster a stern look.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “S’true though.”

“So. Do you want to tell me what it was this time?” It wasn’t as if his little girl brawled with everybody all the time, but it was hardly anything out of the ordinary either. Being so much smarter than her peers was not easy… And she had as little patience with the goldfish as both her dads did.

“No.” Her face was closed up now, not giving anything away – a proper mask of indifference. She didn’t take after only one of her fathers after all.

This was unusual. On previous occasions, she had elaborated the reasons for her arguments freely. Sherlock tensed. Could that be? Could it be about -…

At this moment, he heard the key in the door. Oh, good. Just in time, his dear Alpha.

“ _Hello? Is anybody home?”_

“In the kitchen, love.”

He turned to greet his partner, his Alpha, his man, and as always, seeing him made him melt away. Tall, dark and handsome, that’s what he was. Even after all these years, he felt that longing pull in his heart. And south of it, too, but this was hardly the time...

“I thought I had seen your jacket at the coat rack, Amy. What are you doing at home at this time of day? Are you ill?”

Mycroft bent down to peck Sherlock on the lips and nose his scent gland briefly before he turned back to their daughter, stroking her cheek. When she didn’t answer but only snuggled against his hand, he gave Sherlock a questioning look.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, and as it was normal for them, Mycroft deduced his thoughts. “Oh.”

“I don’t know for sure as our little lady didn’t tell me,” Sherlock clarified as telepathic communication had limits. “But I guess so.”

Mycroft nodded and tousled the dog’s head before he poured himself some coffee and sat down between his brother and his daughter. “I see. Amy… Did anyone say something bad about your dads?”

Sherlock saw her swallow. She looked down at her fingers; her hands were pressed flat onto the table top. “Yes,” she mumbled. “Jeremy, this -… He said… you’re pevets.”

It was not a difficult deduction what this last word – luckily enough not part of her vocabulary until today – really meant. Sherlock exchanged a look with his man, and Mycroft’s face looked meek and regretful. Yes. They should have told her before. But she was only seven. And Sherlock wouldn’t have thought her classmates would get to know about it.

Damn… Mycroft had been right – homeschooling would have been the better option… But Sherlock had wanted to give her the opportunity to make friends of her own. He and Mycroft had never had this chance when they were children, only dealing with some unlucky private teachers who were exchanged every few weeks thanks to Sherlock's behaviour...

Well, Mycroft had never missed having friends, until this very day. But Sherlock had a bunch of them, and he loved them dearly. But Amy… She had not made any attempt at connecting with someone her age. She preferred Georgie and she liked to play cards with John and his wife Gemma, or go shopping or to the park with Molly or Mrs Hudson, and Sherlock was sure she had a bit of a crush on Greg, who was a passionate board-game-player. In this, she wasn’t like either of her dads – they had never gotten along with adults at her age.

Anyway… They had to deal with this now. He gave Mycroft a questioning look and his beloved nodded and cleared his throat before he spoke.

“Well. I think… He said that because your dad and I -…”

“He said you’re brothers, and only pevets marry their own brother. The idiot!” The wrath was back on Amy’s little face, and Sherlock’s heart clenched with love for his pugnacious little girl, so ready to avenge them.

“Well. In one way, he was right. Your daddy Lock and I are brothers. But we are also soulmates. You’ve seen our marks.” Mycroft shoved up his shirt sleeve and showed her the soulmark – Sherlock's name and date of birth, as if there had been any question which Sherlock was supposed to be his soulmate.

Amy nodded. “I know. You must marry your soulmate or you die!”

Sherlock winced while unconsciously rubbing his own matching soulmark. But of course she was right – the harsh facts of their world. An Omega had to find his soulmate Alpha and vice versa, and they needed to bond within a month of the appearance of their mark. They got it simultaneously. Had it shocked them? Yes. For about five minutes. Then they had sat down with each other and realised that they should have known it all the time. There was nobody else for either of them. They were awkward. They were smarter than anybody else. They had bickered all their lives but they had always loved each other as siblings. And loving each other in a romantic way had just fallen into place like the missing piece of the puzzle, and suddenly, the bickering had stopped and had been replaced by passion and devotion.

Siblings being soulmates was… unusual. Very unusual. Obviously only one pair of thirty-thousand soulmate pairs consisted of siblings. It was not forbidden, no, that would have been highly unfair. Nobody chose their own soulmate after all. But… Society looked at these couples with all shades of suspicion and disgust. So had their parents, and therefore, Amy had never met her grandparents, or any other of their relatives. Sherlock thought that it was no loss that she would never have to endure Cousin Razputin or Aunt Fattolina, but their parents… That had smarted in the beginning. And even though he would rather have his child have no contact with them at all – neither did he and Mycroft, obviously – than have her listen to acidic remarks about her dads, from time to time he still caught himself thinking that it was a shame that she did not have devoted grandparents to spend time with. Thank God for Mrs Hudson, so much was sure...

They had known all that from the start when they had decided to quit practising birth control. They had known about the physical risks, too, being first-grade relatives. But after entire nights of discussions, they had both agreed that they wanted a child. A child to carry their genes. A genius. A really special person that could make a difference in this sad, messed-up world. And they had accepted the consequences. But obviously, in all their cleverness they had overlooked the consequences it would still have for a completely healthy, super smart, and strong child like their daughter, their nasty relatives aside.

“Yes,” Mycroft said now. “We had to be together. But we also wanted it.”

“Sure. The other people are all stupid idiots,” Amy retorted, darkly.

Sherlock giggled; he couldn’t help it. “Even Uncle Greg?”

She squirmed on her chair. “Nah. Not he. And not Uncle John and Aunt Gemma. And Molly! And Mrs Hudson! But everybody else…” She made a face that clearly said that everybody else could go straight to hell as far as she was concerned.

Mycroft’s lips twitched. “Well, it was not only because of being different or smarter. We just… belong together, your daddy Lock and I.” He reached for Sherlock's hand, and, mesmerized by just how lovely his Alpha was, Sherlock sneaked his hand into his, enjoying the warmth of Mycroft's skin. With Mycroft, he always felt… safe. He was not only smarter than anybody on this earth, he was so charismatic and strong and special and just hyper sexy, and Sherlock loved him like mad.

“I believe God made us be brothers so we wouldn’t miss each other,” Mycroft continued, and Sherlock caught himself sighing in awe, which made Mycroft give him an amused look and that certain twinkle that told Sherlock that there would be some action tonight when Amy was asleep.

“So… We wouldn’t call ourselves ‘perverts’ for being with each other, but it is something unusual, and there will always be the possibility that someone will mock you for that.”

“And,” Sherlock added when she opened her mouth, “hitting them is not a good answer. Violence can never be an answer.” He tried not to sound like the hypocrite he was. In his detective work, he’d had to take to violence often enough. And damn – sometimes it really felt great to break a jaw with his fist. And someone knew that very well and gave him another amused glance and one raised eyebrow, which made Sherlock poke his tongue at him, hiding behind his cup from their daughter.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, “seeing Jeremy the tosser bleed was pretty good.”

Sherlock couldn’t help it – he burst into laughter, and he got up to take his brave, protective little girl into his arms.

Mycroft shook his head with an indulgent smile. “No need to encourage her, Lock. Listen, Amy, when the next… person says something like that, just go away.”

‘ _And show them your middle finger,’_ Sherlock mouthed above her head, earning the stern look he deserved.

“These people are not open to arguments,” continued the reasonable part of the family.

“No, that’s why I hit them,” she said, stubbornly, and Mycroft sighed.

“Amy…”

“Oookay, fine, I won’t do it again. I’ll tell them that you love each other and that it doesn’t matter that you’re brothers and that they should just shut up.”

“Well. That does sound better,” Mycroft smirked. “So.” He proceeded to get up, his eyes darting to the fridge, but Sherlock urged him to stay seated.

“Let me feed my lovely, brotherly Alpha, huh?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, fondly, and Sherlock thought that if he loved him just a bit more, his heart would give up the ghost.

*****

“We do have a very remarkable daughter,” Mycroft said when he entered the bedroom, his hair still damp from the shower, his cheeks freshly shaven. He had changed into a dark-red robe that was clinging to his body rather fetchingly.

Sherlock, already lying under the blanket, smiled at him. His brother’s tone had sounded dry, but he couldn’t hide that he was moved by how Amy had stepped in for them – in a rather aggressive sort of way. “What did you expect?” he drawled, enjoying the sight when Mycroft took off the robe – he was stark naked under it. “She’s like us.”

“I will let you know that I never took to violence to make my point.” Mycroft sat down on his side of the bed and swung his long legs up.

“Nah. You just shred every offender with a few well chosen words. Or you order them to be killed…”

“Not for my personal satisfaction!” protested Mycroft, turning to him.

Sherlock chuckled and put his hand onto the soft cheek, letting his thumb glide over Mycroft's even softer mouth. “Well, _I_ am in charge of your personal satisfaction.”

“For which I am very grateful,” Mycroft assured him and let his hand glide under the blanket to pull Sherlock's naked body close to his own. “In the mood?” he teased him, winking, as if Sherlock's already half-hard cock wasn’t poking against his thigh with some urgency.

“Nope,” deadpanned Sherlock, popping the ‘p’. “I just want to sleep.”

“Ah, what a shame. Then I can’t do _this_ …” Mycroft mouthed at his ear, briefly licking into it, which sent a shower of pleasure through Sherlock's body and made him grind his rapidly stiffening cock even needier against the lovely thigh between his legs. “Or _that_ …” Mycroft moved to his jaw and neck, mouthing and playfully biting the tender skin while his large hand was kneading Sherlock's bum quite delectably.

“Oh, you pevet!” accused Sherlock, and they both broke out into hysterical giggles before Mycroft, still chuckling, claimed his mouth in a deep, passionate kiss, and Sherlock slung all his disposable limbs around his Alpha’s gorgeous body, sighing as the massive cock poked into his stomach like a spear. His arsehole was throbbing with need and filling with the small amount of slick it was still producing when he got aroused.

He didn’t go into heat anymore – luckily, there were possibilities to avoid that these days. Sherlock’s pregnancy had been hard and full of anxiety and almost impossible to bear. He wouldn’t have wanted a repeat of it so Amy would remain an only child, but as she couldn’t stand other children that was probably for the better… And who knew if they would have been so lucky again at the second attempt?

But these nine months filled with being afraid of giving birth to a possibly seriously sick child were not the only reason for them to avoid those mating circles and the danger of conceiving. The other reason was much more banal – with a child in the house, and such a smart one above all, it would have been highly embarrassing, inconvenient and simply, well, _perverse_ , to turn into a hyper-needy, sex-thirsty something that craved and screamed for a knot all day and night… It did feel like a loss sometimes. He kind of missed the messy, sex-filled days and nights of the time when it had only been the two of them, plus Georgie. They had turned the whole house into a sex playground, not a room had been left unchristened. And he did miss Mycroft's knot. Thankfully, his Alpha cock was gigantic even without it, and he still desired Sherlock almost as much as when he had gone into rut in those early days.

And what he could do with his mouth… Sherlock was spread out on the mattress now, the blanket slipped from his body, and Mycroft kissed and nibbled, licked and sucked to his (and Sherlock's) heart’s content. Sherlock panted when his nipples were skilfully suckled at, groaned when Mycroft kissed his way down to his navel, and gasped when he sucked a bruise into the inside of his left thigh.

“You forgot something,” he stammered, fisting his own cock, and Mycroft looked up to him with innocent eyes.

“Eh? Did I? What might that be?”

“Stop being a tease and suck my cock! And then lick my arse out and fuck me!”

“Damn, Sherlock – I can’t wait for our girl to pick up that language, too,” sighed Mycroft, and Sherlock pinched him in the side.

“Very funny. Get to work, you lazy Alpha.”

Mycroft sighed some more, sounding as if he was in great pain. “Ah, I envy all those lucky Alphas with their shy, obedient Omegas and their well-behaved children.”

“No you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.” Mycroft came up to kiss him again and then he did as he’d been told and Sherlock melted into a puddle of goo when his cock was engulfed by the wet heat of his brother’s mouth.

He knew many Alphas refused to suck their Omegas off, being focused only on their anal entrances as their only goal was to push their large cocks into them and ride them to oblivion. And they did like them weak and obedient. Thank God, Mycroft was not that kind of Alpha. Sherlock's satisfaction was way more important to him than his own. Sherlock called himself a very lucky Omega indeed.

Mycroft sucked and licked and let his tongue swirl around the crown and tease his fraenulum until Sherlock wasn’t any more than a stammering mess, ready to shoot his load any time. He cursed and spat when he was urged to lift his legs so Mycroft could access his sticky hole.

“Now, now, dear brother, please behave and don’t say such ghastly things to your lovely Alpha,” chided Mycroft, enjoying Sherlock’s condition a bit too much.

“I swear, if you don’t finally get me off, in whichever way, I will… Oooh, yes!”

Mycroft couldn’t answer as his tongue was currently preoccupied but Sherlock was quite sure that he was smiling maliciously.

He reached out and pulled at one of Mycroft's ears, and grinned when his hand was batted away nonchalantly. He enjoyed being eaten out and licked and teased with two fingers – and he got totally boneless when Mycroft saddled up and started fucking him in a lazy rhythm. His legs slung themselves around Mycroft's slim hips, urging him on.

And his brother didn’t disappoint. He bent down to bury his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck – and then he started to hammer into him in a way that made Sherlock lose all capacity of forming a single word. He held onto his Alpha for dear life, getting ridden to completion in a frantic pace. His internal muscles clamped down on Mycroft when he came with a cry, and he came again seconds later when he felt the gush of hot fluid deep inside him, and he kept his eyes close when he was kissed tenderly, pulling his man even closer into his arms.

They stayed like that for another two minutes, Mycroft's only slowly wilting erection still lodged inside of him. “God, Mycroft… I love you.”

“Hm. Only for my ability to fuck you dizzy?” teased Mycroft, kissing his cheek.

“Of course. What other reason should there be?”

They chuckled together, and Sherlock thought of all this time they had wasted with being resentful towards each other. Of him mocking his brother with his alleged overweight and overprotection. They had only started to be on better terms when Sherlock had just so escaped the attack of a killer he had been chasing when the soulmarks had appeared. What a long way they had come since then… “Love you like mad,” he said, seriously, and Mycroft stroked his forehead.

“I know, my dearest, and I love you just the same. What have I done to deserve you?”

“You’ve been a pevet,” mumbled Sherlock, and squeaked when he was tickled under the arm.

They chuckled together and then Mycroft urged him to get up so they could take a much needed shower together, and Sherlock grumbled and complained and pinched his Alpha’s pert little arse, receiving a smarting smack on his own behind for his efforts, and everything was just wonderful.

The End

  
  



End file.
